Me, Tragic?
by Truthful Blasphemy
Summary: The sad story of how people have to move on, and how no matter how much you love someone...it's all just an adventure in the end. ONESHOT


**A tragic oneshot I wrote for the sheer sadness of it. I guess I was just in a bad mood, but then it turns out alright so I'm not complaining. DROP SOME REVIEWS PEOPLE!**

**Disclaimer: If I owned Peter Pan, I'd be way cooler than I really am. Duh.**

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The woman watched as her young daughter dangled from the monkey bars, her strawberry blond hair braided back and away from her heart-shaped face. She was laughing, her cheeks painted red by the soft autumn wind. The girl's eyes, watery from that selfsame wind, were a bright ocean blue. Her coat had come undone and her mother gave up on fastening it closed again because the little girl would wrestle it open during her adventures. "Didn't Daddy used to call them adventures?" she would sometimes ask her mother. All the woman could do was smile, blink back her tears, and nod at her beautiful innocent daughter.

"Daddy did," she would reply. "Daddy loved you very much."

"Momma, where did Daddy go?" the cherub would ask. This was too much for Margaret and she picked her lovely child up and cradled her in her arms.

"Well, Bell, Daddy had to go away for a long time."

"B-But why?" Bell would innocently ask. They'd had this conversation a million times but the little girl was quick to forget things, much like her rebellious father before her.

"Because he was confused, darling," she would somehow manage to choke out through the knot in her aching throat. She was strong for little Bell, stronger than any widow before ever had to be.

"Daddy wanted more adventures, didn't he?" Bell asked once, throwing her mother off-guard. She had never asked this before, always settling for the answer 'because he was confused'.

"I-I think so," Margaret would smile, and send her daughter away. She wore that smile often, it was a wet and limp little thing. Her real smile felt jealous of the watery fraud that so often painted itself on the lady's face in its rightful place of honor. She hadn't _really_ smiled in a long time, ever since her husband and taken his own life. _He wasn't made for the real world, _Margaret would remind herself time and time again. _But if he knew that already, why did he choose to come here and why did he let me marry him? Why would he let me fall so in love with him? Why did he die when he knew he had a daughter? I know why..._

"It's all pretend isn't it, that I am their father?" he had once asked her grandmother. Granny Wendy would always feel so let down when Peter said those things, but she never gave up hope. When Peter found out he was a father, he couldn't handle the reality. He ended his life right as his daughter's had begun, leaving a widowed Mrs. Pan and a newborn Bell to founder on their own. That had been nearly five years ago, now.

As Mrs. Pan watched her child play with her peers on the chilly metal playset, a stranger sat down beside her. He was young, with dark curly hair and deep blue eyes. She observed him as he laughed and smiled at his young son, who looked to be just a little older than Bell.

"Hello, mind if I sit next to you?" he asked. She shook her head 'no' and watched the children scamper over each other in their haste and excitement. Oh to be young again. To have boundless energy and the freedom to do whatever you wished. To be gay and innocent and heartless. It's all a bit tragic, when you think of it, how one day you are playing like a child and the next you have a job and a spouse. The man followed her gaze and smiled, "Is she yours?"

"Yes."

"She's beautiful," he said softly.

"She's got her father's hair and my eyes," Margaret smiled. This time the watery thing was partially replaced with something genuine.

"She's beautiful," he repeated.

"What did you say your name was?" she asked. He shrugged with a grin.

"I didn't, but you can call me Ethan."

"Well Ethan, I'm Margaret, it's nice to meet you."

"You too."

"Where is your wife?" Margaret asked, cringing slightly internally.

"Actually, she left us a little while back," the man shrugged. "I guess she just didn't know what to do."

"I know how that goes," she sighed, laughing softly afterword. Ethan cocked his head to the side curiously and gave her a hard look.

"What do you mean?"

"My husband committed suicide years ago," she said softly. Somehow it hurt less to say it now.

"That's terrible!" Ethan exclaimed. Margaret smiled at him and pointed to Bell.

"She's all I have left and I intend to take good care of her. No matter what that silly man did, he did not take our lives away from us. I have to keep living so that Bell will know at least one parent's love," she said determinedly. Ethan looked impressed and breathed hard, letting the air fog in front of his face for a mere moment.

"How does coffee sound?" he asked her, raising an eyebrow.

In her head Mrs. Pan heard the voice of her dead husband echoing, as if to offer a last piece of advice, _to _live _would be an awfully big adventure..._

"It sounds wonderful, Ethan."


End file.
